Blue
by nonsequiturvy
Summary: And why, Robin wondered, had he been cursed to raise two children who had both known the loss of a mother? Sequel to Daughter, from the Alphabet series.
1. Blue

**A/N:** Blue is the sequel to Daughter, which I've included here for reference (feel free to skip ahead!). Anyway, this basically became a missing year EF fic. And it's a two-parter, so stay tuned for more!

* * *

_Daughter_

* * *

He does not mean to raise his voice at her. But Sherwood Forest is not as harmless as it appears in the storybooks, especially not as twilight nears, and it's best for young girls not to leave a father's sight for too long, even if it is to catch lightning bugs, as she had insisted to him through watery eyes.

Her little face screws up in its determination not to let the tears fall, and she runs away from his outstretched arms, his apology, across the campfire and into the arms of Snow White, the closest thing to a motherly figure she has ever known.

"You shouldn't be so hard on her, Robin," a voice murmurs at his shoulders, which slump in defeat.

Tinker Bell perches on the log beside him.

"I know you want to protect her," she says.

He sighs, and his face is in his hands. "And I know there are some things I can't protect her from," he admits, and why had he been cursed to raise two children who had both known the loss of a mother?

Tinker Bell squeezes his bare forearm in sympathy, then they're both looking down at his tattoo and it means more to each than the other will ever know. "We all miss her."

"Not like I do," he whispers, and she can't argue with that.

None of the families traveling in their party had brought up a girl of their own before—all they'd known were boys, and Emma of course, who had raised herself all on her own.

But he knows that if she were here now, she would know exactly what to do, would take their daughter into her arms, would say the words to best soothe the wounds her father's angry remarks had left behind, and then her warm embrace would heal the rest. She would put her to bed after her tears dried, and their daughter would finally sleep soundly, rather than tossing and turning as she had done for weeks.

He allows himself to imagine she would even lean in as though to tell a secret, yet whisper just loudly enough for him to hear, "your father drives me crazy too sometimes," and he almost smiles but then the daydream is gone with the rest of the sunlight.

He throws a twig into the fire and watches it catch flame, though it does not burn.

His daughter is peering over Snow's shoulder at a rustling sound coming from the bushes. Suddenly Neal comes tumbling out of them, startling a small scream out of her as she dives headfirst in Snow's arms.

The boy laughs delightedly and proceeds to sneak up behind his mother, quiet as a field mouse. Robin feels the smile tugging again at the corners of his mouth, as his daughter, thinking she is safe at last, peeks her head up once more.

Neal is ready for her, hands brandished out like claws, and she lets out a terrified shriek to match his gleeful one, dashing out of Snow's lap as quickly as her stumbling legs can carry her.

"Neal," Snow is turning around and scolding him, "What have I told you about scaring her like that?"

Robin is shaking with uncontrollable laughter now, deep and wonderful, and his daughter shoots him a startled look, unaccustomed to the sound; when she realizes it's directed at her, she is as affronted as is possible for a four year old to be, and stalks off dramatically.

"Rayna," he calls to her now, and though she doesn't turn toward his voice, he knows she's listening from the way her footsteps halt and her shoulders square up. "Not so close to the edge of the woods. Roland, take your sister's hand. We know better than to let her wander off like that."

Roland obliges, his boy has gotten so big so fast, and before long he will be breaking hearts of his own with those dimples, as his Gina was always fond of telling him.

He leads Rayna back to the campfire, her heels dragging obstinately in the dirt. She is already so beautiful at such a young age, the spitting image of her mother. Robin's heart pauses a beat every time he recognizes that same look in her eye, mocking but fondly so, and the quirk in her lip whenever her father thinks he's being funnier than he really is.

But he is smiling now, and her anger is forgotten as swiftly as it had come, a mercurial thing that only a child could pull off with such grace. She runs into his arms at last, deposits herself in his lap.

"Tell me about Mama," she implores immediately, and she has asked him this every day since the day she could, and he has always found it so difficult to say no to those big, dark eyes that she hadn't inherited from him. Always finds it so difficult to say much before the pain of losing her feels too fresh for him to go on, like picking a scab that will never heal.

He hesitates.

"Please, Papa." Her lower lip pouts up at him. "Neal doesn't need to hear stories about his mama. She can tell him herself." Rayna tugs on the sleeve of his tunic. "But what about mine?"

"Why don't I do you one better, darling," he finally responds, hoisting her up onto his hip, "and I'll show you, instead."

.

.

.

He knows Roland comes here often, has caught him sneaking away from camp from time to time with handpicked wildflowers fisted in his hand, daisies and snowbells and daffodils, and he always sees them again later, neatly arranged on the unmarked ground where he and Snow had buried her four years earlier.

But he has never brought Rayna here, never could bring himself to, until tonight, and he feels ready.

"This is where your mother and I first met," he says. "And near that tree over there"—Rayna follows his finger with her gaze—"that's where I saved her from a flying monkey."

Her eyes are wide and full of wonder. "Was it love at first sight?"

"Not in the slightest," he chuckles. "She threatened my life several times, actually." He pauses, thinks that maybe that's not the sort of story he should be telling to their daughter, but Rayna is giggling.

"Mama was funny," she says, and Robin smiles in agreement.

"That she was," he says softly.

"But she didn't, though," Rayna points out.

"Quite the contrary," Robin says with a laugh, "she saved me, in more ways than one." There's a lump in his throat. "She saved us all." And that's why she is no longer with them, because she saved them all, but she couldn't save everyone.

"She was pretty too, I bet," Rayna says thoughtfully, twirling a lock of brown hair in her little finger, and he recalls how Regina would pretend to hate his little habit of doing the same to hers, swatting his hand off, but he always caught the smile on her lips before she turned away.

"Your mother," he sits down, hoisting Rayna into his lap, "was the most stunning creature I had ever met." And he wishes he could extract the images of Regina from his mind and share them with their daughter like a daguerreotype, so that she can cherish them in place of the memories she would never have.

They examine the fresh bunch of flowers Roland had left there recently, roots still intact. "Shall we plant these, my love?"

"Yes," she nods enthusiastically, and together, they dig and scoop and pat the dirt down until their nails are thick with it and the scent of flowers will be near impossible to wash out of their skin later. Satisfied with their work, she puts her small hand in his much larger one and the moonlight guides them back to camp, as the daffodils dance in the wind behind them.

.

.

.

Rayna sleeps peacefully that night, her stuffed monkey held tightly in her arms. It's ratty and ruined from being well-loved, with bare bits of thread poking out of his ears, and Snow has had to sew his eyes back on more times than Robin can count because they keep popping off.

Roland had been reluctant to part with it, even when he should've been too old for such artifacts of childhood, but he hadn't been given much of a choice; Rayna had been eyeing it for some time, and when her fingers were developed enough to grasp and hold on to things, she'd done so to the monkey, and then never let go.

* * *

_Blue_

* * *

He dreams of her often.

.

.

.

"_Are you looking for this?" she taunts Zelena with her heart in her hand._

"_That," answers her half-sister, scarlet smile gleaming against emerald skin, "and that precious newborn baby of yours."_

_Robin's grip always tightens on his bow and arrow, trained directly at her smug, smug face, but with a flick of her wrist it redirects at Regina instead and he has no choice other than to drop it, thankful it's even an option. But now, he's utterly helpless to do anything except watch the queen, his queen; he can feel the erratic rhythm of the heart she's holding as acutely as the one beating frantically in his own chest, and only he knows how terrified she truly is._

"_What's the little one's name?" Zelena continues casually. "Rayna? How fitting—except for one minor detail, really. When I'm through with her, she'll never be queen of anything." She's positively beaming at the prospect. "And neither will have you."_

"'_When'?" Regina repeats with a short laugh. "As far as I'm concerned, you'll never have either of those things."_

_Then she throws a look over her shoulder at him, fleeting but filled with despair, and no matter how many times his mind has tortured him with this memory, the knowledge of what's coming never fails to destroy him, and even though he knows he's dreaming, there's nothing he can do to stop it._

"_Regina—" but he can never reach her in time before she's crushing her own heart, and she might as well be crushing his too._

"_No!"_

_There is a blinding flash of white and Zelena is thrown backward, shrieking as a beam of light strikes her in the belly and propels her up into the air. She mounts her broom to counteract the windstorm shoving her back, but her hand sizzles as it comes into contact with an invisible force field in the sky and she jerks away, crying out as her fingers begin to drip and melt like candlewax._

"_Don't think you've won just yet," Zelena screams down at them, clutching her ruined hand to her chest. "I'll get you, my little sister. And your darling daughter too!"_

_He doesn't know who reaches Regina first, he or Snow, but all that either of them can find where she had been standing not seconds before is her riding cloak, collapsed in an empty heap on the forest floor. A gentle breeze erodes through the remnants of her heart, scattering ash through the air and across the wrinkled surfaces of fallen leaves._

_He drops to his knees, and then his chest makes impact with the ground as his entire body crumples, he scrambles for her, claws at the dirt, feels it filling the spaces beneath his fingernails and he yells, screams out for her, begs her to return to him, but she's gone. And she's never coming back._

"_No, Regina," he sobs, he moans, the words choke him until he's gasping just to breathe. "No. No. Regina, no. No. No."_

.

.

.

And other times, instead of 'no,' it's 'yes.'

.

.

.

"_Gods, yes."_

_She palms his mouth to shush him. "These tents aren't soundproof," she scolds, rolling her hips deeper into his as punishment._

"_Complains the woman who kicked us all out of her castle," he counters, but the retort loses its bite at the end when she nips him in the collarbone, and his fingers flex involuntarily at her waist, draw her impossibly closer._

"_It wasn't safe there anymore." She tugs his head to the side with a fist in his hair, granting her tongue better access to his throat. "We were stupid to think it would be. Stupid to stay as long as we did."_

'_I think we could've made do," he argues, but no he doesn't, not really, he just loves to rile her up, because he's a complete and utter fool for her, all of her, every withering glare she gives for everything ridiculous thing he says._

"_Please," she scoffs, straightening up indignantly, and he would have regretted the sudden loss of heat her touch had provided if it didn't give him such ample view of her naked body instead. "That pantry door nearly took off your hand. You're lucky I was there to save it when I did." Said hand comes up now to squeeze her breast and she arches into his palm with a hum, though she's still scowling. "And you thought _Rumple's_ castle had booby traps."_

"_It did," he protests as he sits up, his nose brushing past her cheek and then coming to rest in her hair. "And if I recall correctly, I saved you from one of them."_

"_Well I guess that makes us even," she breathes, pressing her forehead to his, and then her lips; they ghost across his eyelids next, and down the bridge of his nose._

"_So just a matter of repaying your debt, then, or do you actually care now?" he smirks up at her, though he's hardly one in a position to do the teasing._

"_Of course I care, you unprincipled pickpocket," she sighs, leaning back again so she can look him in the eye. Her fingertips dance across his stubble as she cups his face in her hands. "And besides…it easily could have been Roland, instead."_

_It's a sobering thought. He can't argue with that._

_Sensing the moment has passed for now, his hands draw away from her front to run up and down her arms instead; they feel chilly, and he throws the blanket they share over her shoulders, tucking the corners in around her sides. "How long do you think this shield you've put up around Sherwood Forest will last?"_

_Regina looks uncertain all of a sudden. "I'm not sure," she replies haltingly, hands trailing down to rest against his neck before dropping into her lap, and his eyebrows turn downward._

"_What is it?"_

_She fingers the fraying edges of the blanket instead of responding._

"_Regina," he says carefully, "what are you not telling me?"_

"_The shield is tied to my magic," she starts, "and my magic is tied to me." He nods, none of this is news to him; it's the reason why she can never cross to the other side of the shield, can never even come in contact with it, not without reabsorbing all the magic she's stored inside it to keep Zelena's army out._

_He waits for her to continue, and when she doesn't, he sighs, reminds her, "I'm not completely idiotic when it comes to this sort of thing, you know."_

"_I don't know if I can keep it up much longer," the words fall out in a rush, and she's wincing before he's even grabbed her by the arms._

"_What are you saying?" he demands, nearly blinded by panic. "Are you ill?"_

"_Not exactly," she sighs, and he wants to shake her, why can't she just tell him what's wrong?_

"_I'm—" and she pries one of his hands out of its tight grip on her arm, brings it down to clasp her belly instead. "I'm pregnant." He must look positively dumbfounded because then she feels the need to clarify, "I'm having a baby."_

_When he finally finds his voice it's almost criminal how joyous it sounds; their lives are imperiled on a daily basis in this world and they're about to introduce a new one into it. It's selfish and absurd and yet he can't stop his smile from spreading wide no matter how hard he bites down on his lip, can't keep the delight at bay as he exclaims, "We are?"_

_She presses her palms back into his cheeks and a laugh bubbles out of her at the ridiculous expression on his face, and he knows he must be grinning like an idiot but why would he ever stop? "I don't think my body can have this child and keep the shield up at the same time," she confesses. "The energy it takes…"_

"_We'll figure out a way, with or without the damn shield," he promises fervently, and then he's pressing kisses over every inch of her face he can reach. "Zelena is not getting anywhere near us." She looks less assured than he feels, and he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, thumb caressing her cheek as he leaves another kiss on the side of her downturned mouth. "Nothing is worth the loss of a child. Our child."_

"_Robin of Locksley," she says, voice catching, hands clutching his shoulders, then bringing his forearm up to her lips as she presses a kiss into his tattoo, and she can't continue._

_He smiles, gently. "Yes, your majesty?"_

"_I love you," she tells him, finally, finally, finally, and his heart swells as he brings her close to him and they tumble back down into their makeshift bed on the ground. They're both laughing now, flimsy tents be damned, and he gathers her hair in fistfuls as he brings her lips up to his._

_But it is only a memory, he can feel her slipping away, and it's too soon, always too soon._

"_I miss you," he whispers, and she smiles, bemused._

"_I'm right here," she reassures him tenderly, tracing a finger along his jawline but he can't feel her touch, it ghosts right through his skin._

"_Regina," he says, throat closing, and she is gone._

.

.

.

How resilient must his own heart be, he wonders, that it somehow remains intact enough to break anew every time he loses her again?

.

.

.

"_It didn't work," Regina tells him when they meet once more, not in this so-called 'Storybrooke' land, where they had told him the curse would be sending them all, but back at her castle, after the curse has failed. And God help him, knowing what kind of danger they still have yet to escape, but the sight of her coaxes a breath back into his lungs, loosens the hands that had been curled into fists, even while holding Roland, as they had watched her and the Charmings disappear to the topmost spires of her castle._

"_What happened?" he asks, falling into step beside her as they walk aimlessly down a dimly lit passageway. "We heard thunder and thought a storm was descending upon us, but then…nothing."_

"_Snow White had to sacrifice the person she loves the most," she says, as if that explains everything._

"_Sorry, I don't follow," he replies, confused. "She had to…kill Prince Charming?"_

"_I took his heart," she says, unapologetically matter-of-fact, "and then she crushed it."_

"_Sounds like something you can't come back from," he responds, startled, because he has just run into both Snow and her husband, looking rather dejected but very much alive, so he suspects there's more to it than what Regina's telling him._

"_It _was _working," she amends, "until I split her heart in two and put half of it in his chest," and when he starts to speak she gives him a quelling look, as though to stave off incredulity, "her idea, not mine."_

"_Did that negate the curse somehow, then?"_

"_She didn't give up," Regina says, shrugging uselessly. "She couldn't give up the thing she loves most after all. Not even for more than five seconds." She pauses. "It's been a while since I read the fine print but my guess is that would be considered cheating."_

"_So what now?" He feels like a right idiot for asking her question after question, but she looks on the verge of falling apart if she's left with her own thoughts for too long, so he bombards her with more, desperate to save her from the darkest parts of her mind._

"_The castle needs protection," she states flatly. "Otherwise we can't stay here, knowing that she's after the Charming baby."_

"_What could she possibly be planning that involves taking someone's unborn child?"_

"_Nothing good," she responds, "clearly. That baby is pure, innocent. The product of true love. It's the most powerful magic of all."_

_Her eyes glaze over, she looks lost in herself._

"_I'm sorry," he says finally, stopping her with a hand on her arm, and she regards it like it's some foreign object. "I know how badly you wanted to see your son again."_

_She shrugs him off, though he takes comfort in the fact that she lets his touch linger there longer than she might have done just hours earlier._

"_He wouldn't have remembered me anyway."_

_She's stalking away when he speaks again, his voice right by her shoulder and she looks supremely irritated, as though she had expected him to take that as his cue to leave._

"_Can I help you?" she asks tersely._

"_I'm sorry you've lost this chance to be reunited with your son," he repeats, "but I'm _not_ sorry that you've failed to lose your memories."_

"_How did you know about that?" she asks, too surprised to hide it._

"_Snow White," he supplies, "mentioned Zelena's…contribution, to the curse," and Regina scowls in exasperation, seems to be struggling not to roll her eyes._

"_I know there are things you wish you could forget," he continues, and she glares at him._

"_I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."_

_"You keep running," he states._

"_And just what do you think I'm trying to _run _from?" she hisses, looking mutinous as she leans forward, and he takes advantage of her sudden proximity, captures her wrist to tug her even closer as he steps forward into the same space, and now she has nowhere to run even if she tries._

"_This, Regina. You're running from this." He levels his calm blue eyes with her stormy brown ones. "But sooner or later you're going to realize that you're only running around in circles, because I'm not going anywhere. And sooner or later, you _will_ stop running."_

"_What makes you think you know me so well?" she bites out._

"_What makes you think I don't?" And he has her there, because she knows, and that's what terrifies her, petrifies her, that he knows her and yet somehow, he's not the one who's trying to run._

"_My feelings for you have not changed," he tells her sternly. "And I'm not going to stop feeling them simply because you expect me to."_

_And he's right, because he knows her; someday she does stop running, and not a moment sooner, but when she does he holds her fast before she can run again, promises that he's still not going anywhere, and she promises the same._

_But some promises are meant to be broken._

.

.

.

It's funny, isn't it, the thought mocks him, that she was the one who finally threw caution to the wind, risked her heart for a second chance at happiness, and yet he was the one whom fate had decided to fuck over in the end.

.

.

.

"_Apologies, milady. I do not know what came over me."_

_He suspects that in another lifetime she would have taken off a man's head for much less than what he has just done, but this is not the queen of the stories he has heard, the stories that have chased him along with her black knights, league after league but always just a step too slow for his Merry Men. No; this queen is strong, without a doubt in his mind, but delicate too, he's seen it in her eyes before she's even realized how easily he can read them—delicate and altogether vulnerable, to him of all people, maybe especially to him, for reasons he has yet to fathom._

_"Temporary insanity, no doubt," she gasps out, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from his kisses, and he can't help but smirk, senses that it will only drive _her_ to insanity (and he's right)._

"_I can assure you it won't happen again," he tells her, but the real promise he's making is clear; and after he's put Roland to bed later that night, unable to sleep himself—the memory of her hooded eyes and shallow breaths keeps him very much awake every time he closes his eyes— he finds himself roaming the forest once more, when a bird squawks nearby and Regina stumbles out of his mind and into his arms, her sleeve caught on some bramble and her footing caught on a root._

_And then he doesn't even have a chance to make good on his promise, because she's the one kissing him instead. The touch of her lips to his always destroys him, a brutal reminder that this is all he has left of the real thing, a dream, a memory of a memory, so his fingers tangle further into her hair and he kisses her with the bruising desperation of one on borrowed time._

_She pulls away to draw a breath, her eyes defiant but her voice uncertain ("Why are you doing this?"); he gathers her lips back to his, tries to kiss away all her doubt; presses her body into the tree with a thigh between her legs, tries to will away his fear of her leaving him. And if only he could free himself of the words he's fated by the past to say, and the tattoo she's destined by luck to see, but the fabric of his sleeve always tears on some godforsaken thorn, and his eyes burn with unshed tears when she shoves him away._

"_Regina," he starts hopelessly, his step forward encouraging her to take three back._

"_Don't come any closer," she gasps, "unless you intend to meet an early end with a fiery demise."_

"_Back to this, are we, then? With you hurling your empty threats and—"_

"_Empty?" she scoffs. "Test my patience again and we shall see how hypothetical a fireball feels when it's turning you into a pile of ashes."_

"_Stop this, Regina!" And he's yelling, perhaps more harshly than he actually did when this happened the first time—would have been years ago, now—but still her reaction is the same, and he longs to shake her, break her out of this trance his memory has bound her in. "Stop running. Stop pushing me away, stop hiding behind your magic and your evil pretenses. Answer me truthfully. What is it that you are so afraid of?"_

_But he knows; it's him. He terrifies her but he will not know why, not until months and months later, when she finally tells him._

"_We're done here, _thief_."_

_The term is almost amusing to him now, because _she's _the one who stole _his_ heart._

_This is the part where I'm supposed to leave, he thinks, and by the time the muscle memory of his dream self has started to force his body to walk away from her—"As you would have it, then, my Queen"—she's already fading into the blackness of the surrounding forest._

.

.

.

Even though he was the one to walk away, he always comes back for her. But then she's the one who leaves him, and there's never anything he can do to stop her, or to save her, in the end.

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.

.

_He struggles off the ground, clumsy with grief, intoxicated by it, and he lurches forward, ready to move heaven and hell in order to make Zelena pay for everything he has lost, when a firm grip on his arm tugs him back._

"_Robin, stop." Snow White. Her fingers tighten, applying just enough pressure to break through the fog around his mind, as she reminds him, through tears of her own, that Regina gave her life to keep the shield strong, don't let her sacrifice be in vain—_Her death _is_ in vain,_ he shouts at her—and that disturbing the shield will compromise its ability to protect him, all the more so if he ventures beyond it._

"_I don't need protection," he growls, and it is utterly ridiculous that he needs to explain this to _her _of all people, when she gladly gave up half her heart so her true love's could beat again. But not every couple is destined to live such a charmed life as theirs, and the reason why it had even been possible, the reason why his own heart will never be whole again, is gone._

_He would rip it from his chest himself if he could, would even hand his soul over to Rumple to somehow make this right, but they haven't seen the imp since the day they broke into his castle, and there isn't even a body left of hers to bring back._

"_Fine," says Snow, "you may not need protection, but other people do." Her gaze is drawn behind him and he turns to follow it to the edge of the forest, where Tinker Bell is weaving her way to them with something bundled up in her arms. As she approaches, the sound of a baby's cry reaches Robin's ears and it nearly brings him to his knees again._

"_What happened?" the fairy gasps out, surveying the surrounding signs of destruction—the bodies of fallen monkeys, trees knocked askew at the roots, scorch marks upon the ground, and a single riding cape, permanently separated from its owner. "Where's Regina?"_

"_She's gone," says Robin, "she's—she's—" but his throat closes off to the rest as he reaches for Rayna, who immediately stops crying upon the transfer from Tinker Bell's arms into his. Her eyes were a startlingly brilliant blue at birth ("As blue as your father's," Regina had cooed as a tiny hand fisted around her finger, hours before the first monkey had struck the shield in its weakened, vulnerable state); now, he is utterly dazed to see, they are a dark, rich brown, as though Regina had left one final piece of her behind for him._

"_Gone?" Tinker Bell is repeating, voice rising octaves above her normal pitch as Snow comes around to wrap her up in a hug. "Gone? What do you mean _gone_?"_ _and the last word erupts in a despairing shriek._

_Legs unable to sustain the weight of his heart any longer, Robin sinks back to the forest floor, cradling Rayna close. His lips brush against her cheek and she reaches up, fingers wriggling, slipping down the bridge of his nose as they attempt to grasp it, and agony crushes the air out of his lungs in a ragged gasp, his entire being shakes, utterly broken._

_Snow has come to kneel beside him, the picture of poise were it not for the tears running freely down her face, tiny pearls of moisture depositing into her hair, and her hands are trembling when they encircle his forearm; he wonders if the gesture is meant more to reassure him, or herself._

"_Her eyes," Snow notices suddenly, and Rayna blinks them, gurgles happily when Snow's finger tickles the bottom of her chin, lifting it up for a better look. "They're brown now."_

_Tinker Bell joins them, palms rubbing furiously over her face in an attempt to dry it, and she hiccups. "That's not possible," she says finally, "unless…"_

_She exchanges a meaningful look with Snow. "Do you know what this means?" the fairy finally asks, eyes back on Robin now._

_He rocks Rayna in his arms, can only manage to shake his head in response. A deep ache is settling into every muscle of his body._

"_It's Regina," says Tinker Bell, stroking the back of a finger along Rayna's cheek. "She's preserved in the shield…and in your daughter."_

"_Meaning?" Robin chokes out._

"_Rayna can't go near the shield," answers Snow. "She'll singlehandedly destroy it."_

"_And absorbing all of Regina's magic…" Tink wonders, "what if it destroys _her_?"_

"_We'll stay here, then," Robin starts to say, there is nothing left for him outside of these woods anyway, but he cuts off when a shadow of something moves through the trees, he would recognize that bright blue fur-lined coat anywhere, it must be her, it has to be her—_

"_Regina," he says, scrambling back to his feet, but the specter does not pause, does not change course as it glides further and further away, deeper into the forest. "Regina!" he yells, and Rayna is crying. He feels a force at his arm pulling him back, but his body is no longer his own, he feels wild, deranged—_

"_Robin, she's gone," Snow says, echoing his earlier words. "Robin!"_

_Her voice cuts into his soul like a knife. When he turns again, she's gone. Was never there._

_He lets out an anguished cry._

"_Papa?"_

.

.

.

"Papa?" A shaking of his shoulders and a soft voice at his ear are stirring him from a restless sleep. "Papa, you were shouting again." Large dark eyes blink down at him as equally dark locks of hair framing milky skin fall to tickle his face and catch in his beard.

"I'm so sorry, darling." He rubs what little sleep he's gotten out of his eyes and pulls her into his arms. She snuggles close with her face pressed into his cheek. "Did I frighten you?"

She shakes her head. "No," she says, voice muffled, tickling his skin, and she breaks his heart, "I'm used to it, by now."

Rayna starts wiping a palm down his face and it's not till then that he realizes it's wet with his tears.

"What were you dreaming about?" she asks him. "Is it Mama again?"

He buries his face into her shoulder and she pats him comfortingly on the head. "You get to be with her every night," she offers, and he manages a smile, though she cannot see it.

"I love her too," she whispers soothingly, "even though I haven't met her yet."

His daughter (their daughter) is old enough to have formed her own achingly optimistic theories of object permanence—that just because you don't see a thing doesn't mean the thing doesn't exist. The concept of death, however, is a story that will chase her to no avail, a story that even Roland had been too young to comprehend when he'd lost his own mother; but the loss of Regina still haunts him, has broken him too, aged his soul well beyond the few years he's lived, and their Rayna, their darling Rayna, is all either has left of her, apart from each other.

And they will always, always protect her. Even if it's from a truth she is not yet old enough to understand.

Robin's eyelids flutter closed and he feels her press a sloppy kiss to his forehead, hears her sweet little "night, Papa!" before she's puttering back out of his tent.

.

.

.

He falls once more into a restless sleep, but his tent flaps aggressively open and saves him from dreaming again.

"Robin." It's Snow, and she sounds uncharacteristically anxious. "I can't find Rayna."

He's up in an instant, throwing a cloak over his shoulder with one hand and fumbling into his shoes with the other, and he bursts out of the tent within a matter of seconds, startling one of the dwarves walking by.

"Rayna!" he's yelling, no, no, not again, he can't lose her again—

"Papa?" And Robin turns to locate the sound of his son's voice.

"Roland," he gasps, starting forward, meets him halfway, "Roland, where is your sister?" but his boy is shaking his head, looking panicked and on the verge of breakdown.

"I'm sorry, Papa," he's crying, "I was watching her and then I turned away for a second and she was just _gone_."

"I already sent Charming to the south side," Snow is speaking to Robin's left as he scours the campsite, hoping beyond what he knows to be reasonable that she's had her bit of fun hiding and frightening her papa to death, will pop out from behind a tree at any moment, but she doesn't, and his breathing quickens, adrenaline spikes his blood as it courses violently through his body in a deafening roar.

"Come with me to the north side, my boy," Robin says, taking Roland's hand, and they take off together, as he shouts back to Snow to cover the east and the west. They fly through the air, coasting silently over roots and irregular dips in the forest floor with the grace of ones unaccustomed to any other kind, as their eyes scan every shadow, every sign of motion.

"Papa," Roland shouts suddenly, pointing, "look!" and they both come to an abrupt halt at the edge of a clearing Robin had dreamt about just days before.

She's standing mere feet away from the shield and it shimmers visibly in response to her closeness, as though it senses that they were cut from the same cloth.

"Rayna," Robin calls, feeling numb all over, "step away from that. It's not safe."

The sound of her papa's voice brings a smile to her face, and she only beams brighter when she sees her brother standing there with him.

"It's beautiful," she says, lifting a finger to point at the shield, and it positively thrums with energy.

"Rayna, don't touch it," and he starts forward, "it may be beautiful but it's dangerous too."

"That's what you said about Mama before," Rayna comments excitedly, brown eyes large and wondrous at the implications. "Is it like Mama?"

"No," he says desperately as he nears, holding out his arms for her to run to them, but she doesn't, "your mother was only a danger to those who tried to hurt the ones she loved. Including you."

"And you and bruther," Rayna says with an emphatic nod, but she's still watching the shield with too much curiosity, not enough fear.

"Yes, but you especially," Robin stresses, and she doesn't understand, her hand is reaching out again and he breaks out into a run, Roland not far behind, shouting this time, "Rayna! No!"

A crack of lightning strikes the ground and he's thrown into the air, landing on his back with a force that knocks the breath right out of him for several seconds. He turns to his side, groaning, and then Roland is bending over to grab him by the arms and help him off the ground.

"Rayna?" he gasps in question, but the air around them is dense with fog.

When it clears, she's gone.

* * *

**A/N:** Some of you who've read 'Smirk' may have noticed that parts of this felt familiar? They don't necessarily have to exist in the same universe if you don't want them to, but it was kind of fun for me to write it that way, so there you go :)

Also, I can take absolutely no credit for the phrase 'unprincipled pickpocket,' which I stole from Tamora Pierce's fabulous _The Song of the Lioness _series. I couldn't help myself, I just love it so.


	2. Scars: Interlude

**A/N:** A brief interlude. Hope it was somewhat worth the wait?

* * *

_Scars_

* * *

One Year Later

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.

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"Papa," she asks him one day, ever the inquisitive little thing that she is. "Where did you get…that?" Her finger twirls in the air before it lands on his arm, tracing the long line of a scar that forms a pearlescent glow on his skin.

"Oh, that old thing?" He pauses a beat before answering, "your, uh…your mother gave it to me," and she claps both her hands over the small berry-stained O of her mouth, looking as scandalized as can be for a five-year-old girl.

"She _what_?" Rayna yells in a whisper, and her blue eyes have gone comically wide.

Robin chuckles. "That's right, my darling. She got quite a good lash in, didn't she?"

"But how?" Rayna wants to know. "Did she mean to? Was it an accident?"

He smiles fondly at the memory as he hoists his daughter up into his arms and they make their way back to camp. "Not exactly."

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.

.

"_You're _still_ holding it wrong," he informs her, and her grip on the bow slackens as she casts a withering glare his way._

"_Why does it matter how I'm holding it, if it's never supposed to miss?" she demands to know, in a manner that Robin can only describe as borderline petulant save for the vicious gleam in her eye, and he's had the fortune of her company long enough to know that to the average individual, it's no idle threat._

_But he's gotten away with stealing enough kisses from her to know that when it comes to threatening _him_ in particular, she always seems to find it rather difficult to follow through in the end._

"_That's not the point," he insists, trying, failing, not to sound as amused as he feels._

"_Actually, that _is_ the point," she argues, swinging the arrow around to point a touch closer to his chest than he'd like (but he crosses his arms, stands his ground). "I'd like to see how well Robin Hood's aim holds up to the legend without his magical bow and arrow."_

"_Oh, believe me," he says, voice dropping several octaves as he leans in close, invades her space, and the sudden hitch in her breath is everything to him, "I am not a man you want to bet against, your majesty."_

"_No?" Regina tosses back, and this is familiar ground for them both, the heat of their words (of her lips on his skin), the give and the take of their constant bickering (and his giving in to her, always giving in, as she takes his heart and walks away with it every damn time). "By all means, then. _Try_ to prove me wrong."_

_He smirks as she glowers, and neither of them is going to back down from this fight._

"_All right," he finally agrees. "On one condition." He lifts Snow White's bow off the tree trunk where it rests (it's a bit small for his frame, a better fit for Regina's grip by far, but she'd naturally prickled up instantly when he offered her the smaller of the two). With that firmly in hand, he retrieves the apple he'd been saving for Shadowfax from his rucksack, and then the fruit is gliding through the air before his arrow knocks it clean off course and buries it into a tree, several yards away and nearly just as many above, the resounding thud echoing throughout the forest._

_And he doesn't have to look to see the way Regina had squared her shoulders back and set her jaw in full-on aggravated mode. He slings the bow over his shoulder and rearranges his expression to one of perfect innocence before turning back to face her with it. "Now, let's see how you fare without _your_ magic as a crutch, hmm?"_

"_A crutch?" she all but thunders, "that _crutch _is what saved us from that flying monkey the other day," and Gods but if getting her all riled up like this doesn't do things to—_

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.

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"Papaaa," Rayna exclaims, thumping him soundly in the chest with a tiny fist, and he grunts in surprise. When he's recovered enough to raise an incredulous eyebrow at her, she pouts, bottom lip protruding spectacularly, as she informs him with a touch of impatience (and she is her mother's daughter), "You stopped." And so he has, halfway through his sentence in the middle of the dirt-beaten path, as he lost himself to the recollections of his mind.

"Ah." He smiles, brushes a scratchy little kiss to her cheek, and she lets out an indignant squeal, batting his face playfully away as he chuckles.

"Apologies, milady," he tells her, all seriousness once more. "Now, where was I?"

"Mother was yelling at you," Rayna supplies helpfully, hands settling back around his neck, and he nods in exaggerated fashion as he resumes their walk.

"Yes, she most certainly was."

.

.

.

"_Fine," Regina says peevishly, "have it your way…while you can."_

_Robin lets his smirk linger the longer her gaze narrows at his face, staring her down as she sizes him up. "What will it be, Regina?" he asks her, voice dropping a decibel lower with every step that inches him closer to her, and she's too stubborn to back away now. He's flirting with her, shamelessly, whether she would ever admit to liking it or not (her hands are haughty against her hips and her lips have drawn into a scowl, but her eyes always, always tell a different story)._

_She's silent for some time, tilting her head to the side as she regards him with an increasingly calculated air, and it's a side of her he rarely sees. Not the prickly, guarded woman with a permanent edge to her words (which he's only heard soften for Snow and his boy, his Roland), the woman who seems to spiral deeper into a pit of self-loathing every time she lets him see just a little bit more of what she'd meant to hide. No; it's the side of her that belongs to the glittering corsets she's since traded in for more practical wear, and though she's cast aside the evil from her name he still detects a glimmer of what makes her the Queen, and he finds himself utterly enthralled by it._

"_Tell me, Robin," she's addressing him now, and the sound of his name passing through her lips is startlingly resonant, sinisterly divine, the way he might imagine it articulated by the song of a siren. "How well can you handle yourself with a sword?"_

_And whatever he had been expecting, it certainly isn't this, as her arms whip suddenly into the air, hands twisting at the wrists, and the air surrounding them shimmers, distorts; the late afternoon sun filtering through the treetops scatters light off of it in flashes of white, temporarily blinding him. When the dark spots have cleared from his vision, long thin blades are glinting where the air has stilled._

_Swords. _

_Regina spins one at the hilt—rather expertly, Robin notes with growing curiosity, just a touch of trepidation, and perhaps a slight thrill—until the point barely slices through the ground, and then she's tossing it up in a graceful arc for him to catch. His fingers close around the wooden grip, encased in a rich, supple leather._

_It's a perfect fit, gloriously weightless in his hand._

_She's the one smirking now as his startled gaze lifts up to meet hers, looking smug and thoroughly satisfied while she fingers the edge of her own blade, draws a bead of blood when she tests its point against her skin. Then she's palming the central groove cutting down through the flat side of the steel, lifting it delicately up to her lips, and he's arrested at the sight of her tongue slipping out and dragging along the—_

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Robin clears his throat loudly, distractedly, as Rayna eyes him with great interest while playing with the short locks of hair at the nape of his neck. Now that all of the details are coming back to him, every last alluring, breathtaking bit, he thinks that perhaps this was not the most appropriate story to be sharing with his daughter at this age—or at any age, for that matter—and he smiles ruefully as her fingers weave through and begin to tug.

"The swordfight, Papa," Rayna finally bursts out impatiently while he busies himself with lifting a particularly aggressive branch of leaves out of their path before it whaps them both in the face. "I don't care what Mama's doing with the sword. Unless she tries to hit you with it." And she giggles hysterically when he leans back to give her full view of the mock-frown lining his face.

"Very well then," he declares in an overly dramatic fashion, and she pokes him in the cheek in response. "Why is it that both of the women in my life are so determined to see me injured?"

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.

.

_His grip tightens reflexively as she paces in lazy, predatory circles around him, switching sword hands with remarkable ease. (And he wonders if there will ever come a time when she does not fascinate him in some new way, this woman with a tongue as sharp as her blade, who will cut those closest to her heart, to protect them from her, and her from them.)_

_Robin wouldn't consider himself an expert swordsman by any means, though he's certainly not half-bad either; there's simply a level of finesse to disabling a target from great distances away that has always appealed to him more than the repetitive thrust and parry of metal on metal, and in a pinch hand-to-hand combat has never failed him before so he'd never bothered to learn his way around a sword as thoroughly as he might have otherwise. But he'll be loath to admit as much to Regina, so he hefts the weapon, takes an experimental swing or two, getting acquainted with the feel of it slicing through the air, adjusting the angle to obtain better control, minimize wind resistance._

"_I _will _beat you," she informs him with a disdainful arch of her brow, as though she has just given a sword to a monkey. "And I won't need magic to do it."_

_Oh, he doesn't doubt it, not in the slightest (he'll tell her as much many months later; she will roll her eyes, and her lips will purse with exasperation, then soften when he's not looking, press a long, lingering kiss to the scar she left on his arm when she thinks him asleep). But he's never been one to give in without a fight, least of all when it comes to this woman (and he will continue to fight her, to fight _for _her, until the day she dies, and that day is sooner than he'll ever be able to accept, or forgive himself for allowing, by failing to save her in the end)._

_Their blades clash instantly, and the jarring sound of steel edges grating, sharpening against each other pierces through the calm of the forest, emitting sparks into the air. Robin staggers slightly from the unexpected power behind her attack, has only just regained his balance when another forceful shove of her sword sends him stumbling backwards. Cursing inwardly, he advances his right leg and bends at the knee, digs his left heel into the ground for firmer footing, and then he's bringing his sword up just in time to deflect another blow. The answering clang sends vibrations up his entire arm but he holds steady now as the muscle memory kicks in, built upon the countless but halfhearted lessons of his youth._

_Her eyes widen slightly in surprise when her next attack is blocked with considerably greater ease, as though she had expected a country bumpkin who didn't know his right from left, let alone his way around a sword. He graces her with a smirk in response, the kind that always seems to get under her skin and settle there, but this time, she looks delighted in spite of herself, because the sweet taste of victory will be all the sweeter if it's earned rather than relinquished freely to her._

_And the thought of being an opponent well matched and worthy of his queen sets his bloodstream ablaze, heightens his senses and adds an assurance to each step he takes to evade every diagonal swish of her blade. Cutting in with a few of his own, he gives just as good as he gets now, his moves not quite on the offensive, but his swift reflexes and lightness of foot more than make up for the technical polish Regina's skills have acquired over years of study that he himself lacks._

_She swings her sword in a butterfly sweep, slicing through the air with a sharp whistling sound as she cuts it crossways; but the artistry of her move grants him ample time to anticipate where the edge of her sword will land, and he meets her halfway. The resulting clang is drowned out by her incredulous, giddy laughter, and he thinks it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard._

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.

.

"What about me, Papa?" Rayna interrupts. "That's what you always say about _my _laugh."

"Well, my love," he reasons, "you inherited it from your mother, did you not?" And she tries to twist her way out of the kiss that accompanies his question, pretending to look immensely displeased by the overt display of affection (but then she's rubbing his stubble with an equally affectionate hand a second later as the edge of their camp comes into view, and she is so like her mother in every way).

.

.

.

_He grows bolder, more confident in his swings as Regina gains momentum, her sword arm mesmerizingly fluid as her entire body practically glides through the air with each new strike that he parries aside, bringing his sword up, down, left to right and back. The competitive spark that had initially set her on edge seems to settle down ever so slightly as they establish a comfortable sparring rhythm, and he allows himself a moment to drag his gaze over her face, take in the rosy flush of her cheeks, the way her eyes radiate warmth and crinkle at the corners with the smile that tugs at her lips even as she tries to bite it down._

_Her eyes never could lie to him._

_And they're watching him closely now, so he lets his wander to her full red mouth, catching his lower lip between his teeth, and she hesitates for a fraction of a second, drops her guard just long enough for him to sneak in where she's left herself wide open, the tip of his blade catching in the lacy eyelet trim of her bodice and tearing a long, narrow slit through her skirts._

_They both pause with their swords midair as they stare down at the generous expanse of leg peeking out from between the fabric of her now ruined dress, and then she's glaring balefully up at him as he shrugs with an impish, lopsided grin._

_Her jaw sets determinedly and he knows he's in for it now, barely dodging back in time before his tunic meets the same fate as her gown. But she's relentless, cutting up with a backhand slash, and as he angles away from her attack he miscalculates, landing on his side with a not so graceful _oomph_. He curses, rolls hastily to avoid the sword she's about to point toward his throat, and it pierces through the dirt where his back had been mere seconds before. He kicks up and out with enough force to propel his body upward until his feet are planted firmly on solid ground, only to realize the sole reason he's standing once more is because she'd let him._

_Regina folds prim hands over her sword hilt, waiting patiently as he bends forward, stretching his back and the spot that had made hardest impact when he fell (he'll be sore as the devil there before the sun has finished setting, but he can't seem to feel the least bit regretful about it)._

"_Show off," he accuses her finally, though without a trace of malice, and in point of fact there's an awe in his voice that he doesn't try to hide, and her answering _You're not so terrible yourself_ has him returning the smile that she couldn't hide now even if she'd wanted to._

"_But," she adds as he stretches his shoulders and resumes an en garde position, having sufficiently caught his breath, "I'm just warming up."_

_She feints suddenly left and he follows suit, realizing his blunder too late when she sidesteps back to the right; in the few precious seconds it takes for him to redirect, she's spotted her opening and lunged forward, her sword tip slipping through the metal knuckle guard looping around his hand on the hilt, and only an instinctive twist and backwards flick of his wrist prevents her from completely disarming him._

_She raises her eyebrows playfully as he directs a rueful gaze up at her, taking an exaggerated step back to allow him more time to readjust his stance and grip. "Your majesty is too kind" is his wry remark, earning him another blinding smile that temporarily stops his heart, and he wonders if he hasn't just dreamed up this whole thing, because she's never looked so _free_, so light in spite of the growing shroud of darkness that surrounds them._

.

.

.

"Well it couldn't have been a dream," Rayna reasons. "Because you still have the scar."

"I certainly do," Robin replies, "and if you little monkey would quit interrupting—" she squirms and emits tiny peals of laughter as he tickles her full in the belly—"perhaps you'll be able to find out how I got it."

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_Regina's steps begin to slow along with her sword, almost leisurely in the way she parries and blocks, and he realizes she's drawing him in, taunting him to make the first move this time, so he does, surging forward. Their blades crisscross and slide against each other until they catch and lock at the hilt, and he uses it to his advantage, tugging her to him at the point where their swords have entwined. She falls into his chest with a startled gasp, their bodies pressed as closely together as the razor-edged steel between them will allow, and his breath hitches for an entirely different reason now._

_His free arm snakes around to pull her closer, palm splaying tentatively against her back. Her grip around her sword has tightened, whitening her knuckles, as her other hand comes up to press into his chest. He braces himself, but miraculously, she does not push him away._

.

.

.

"Mama was only pretending to not like you," Rayna comments as they find themselves loitering just beyond the camp perimeters. She take the opportunity to pick through the last of the daffodils poking out from the edge of the forest, dots of color amongst dark green bushes, gathering them into small bunches and rearranging them with delicate fingers.

"Oh, is that so?" Robin asks innocently from where he's leaned against a tree. "You mean the same way you pretend to not like Snow's boy?"

His daughter gives him a supremely withering look, as though he's just offered her a bowl of Uncle Grumpy's infamous breakfast porridge. "That's _different_," she says. "Because I _don't_ like Neal. But Mama loves you. She just doesn't like to admit it."

To Robin's amusement, she speaks about it as matter-of-factly as Snow had done, back in the earlier days when his Merry Men had first joined rather reluctant forces with the Evil Queen. Regina had gone out of her way to antagonize him from the start, matters he had only managed to worsen when he'd had the audacity (or, more accurately, _Some goddamn balls of iron-clad steel_, according to a very scandalized Little John) to kiss her in the forest one day.

And Snow had gone out of her way to defuse each situation, everyone's last nerve already stretched thin as it was from the strain of keeping constant vigilance against the ever-present threat of Zelena's simian army. But she had known, too, every time she'd caught him staring after Regina, because she was always, always walking away from him (until the day he convinced her to stay, that she owned his heart just as much as he owned hers; that a thief though he may be, even one as good as he cannot steal what has been given to him freely).

Rayna ambles back over to him with her handpicked bouquet, tugs on his trousers to indicate that she is ready to be picked up again. He complies, switching her from one hip to the other when she complains that the flowers meant for Mama keep getting caught in his quiver.

"What about the scar?" she's prompting him again. "Your story's taking too long, Daddy. Stop being so twitter—twitter—" her nose scrunches up in deep thought as she works her way around the word "—pated. Twitterpated."

"_Twitterpated_?" Robin echoes. "Where on earth did you learn such a term?"

"Auntie Snow says that about you all the time," Rayna says, and he hums, _Oh she does, doesn't she?_ as he makes a mental note to discuss with the princess later that he would greatly prefer his daughter _not _think him some lovesick man, regardless how accurate it is, thank you very much.

.

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.

_Regina's gaze has grown hooded, dark eyes molten as they draw up to watch him from between long lashes, and he becomes acutely aware of the irregularity in her breathing, the tongue she slips out to wet her lips. His sword lowers, hers along with it, and he inches forward, lowering his eyes to her mouth, his nose to her cheek, and she leans into his touch as his eyelids flutter closed—_

_Amateur mistake._

_The scraping sound of metal on metal rings out before he's even dragged his eyes back open, her blade fully extracted from his and angled an inch away from the center of his chest. A triumphant smile turns her lips upward, but it wavers as he closes the gap, and the steel tip comes into direct contact with his skin, indenting slightly under the pressure of the blade, though not quite close enough for it to pierce through._

_She looks startled, alarmed even, and takes a quick step back, drawing her sword away, and he's the one smirking now as he lunges, eliciting an accusatory glare along with a muttered "Cheater" when she hastily makes to block his attack (to which he scoffs, _I only learn from the best, your majesty_, and she rolls her eyes but smiles all the same)._

_Still, he doesn't maintain the element of surprise for long, and she's forcing him back once more, one step, then another, until the heel of his boot encounters a root and he stumbles, her blade slicing clean through his sleeve. It catches into his skin, breaking it open with a sudden gush of red that blooms out from the gaping wound she's left behind. His grip loosens, sword falling away as the pain lances through his arm, and his free hand comes around to apply pressure, staunch the blood flow while his vision dances in and out in a dimming blur._

"_Robin?" he hears Regina gasp, sees her sword tossed violently aside as she all but shoves his back into a tree, forcing him to a sitting position as she kneels between his legs, scrambling to tear off his sleeve. The blood gushes forth at a relentless pace, slickening her fingers, and she curses outright before reaching for her skirts instead. Her lips move soundlessly over what Robin can only guess to be some kind of spell word as the fabric splits itself at the seams, widening the gap he'd already left there, and then she's too impatient for magic and rips the remainder apart with her bare hands, winding pieces around his arm and tying them down like a tourniquet._

_Once she's reassured that he won't lose more blood than what he has already, she collapses next to him, leaning her head back against the trunk of the tree next to his. He's vaguely aware of the way her chest heaves up and down to accommodate the panic that's finally settling down there as he breathes out, "Are you all right?" She lets out a chuckle that sounds suspiciously watery, but she turns away before he has a chance to dry the tears she won't let him see._

"_Regina, I'm sorry," he starts, arm already halfway up to touch the side of her cheek, the pain has addled his brain and made him bold, lifted his inhibitions, but it also arrests his hand midair when his muscles cry out in protest. Wincing, he rolls his shoulder back, and then her touch is like a salve on his arm, impossibly gentle as it soothes the throbbing away, leaves a dull ache in its place._

"_I maimed you," she finally says, incredulous, almost defensive, "and _you're _the one saying you're sorry?"_

_His mouth quirks up in a sheepish grin, and when her eyes draw down to his lips she sighs this time, almost in defeat, as she lowers her mouth and presses a brief kiss there, her apology, his antidote. She breaks off, much too soon for his liking, and makes to lean away but his good hand has already tangled into her hair, is coaxing her lips back to his for a proper kiss this time._

"_Try not to use this as another excuse to run away from me again, yeah?" he murmurs against her mouth before they part once more. (And of course she will.) "I promise you that not all pain is bad, Regina." (But then she will be one who teaches him that if you can find someone you love enough to be in a world of hurt over, to ruin your entire life for, then, well, it's always worth it, in the end.)_

.

.

.

Rayna is watching him in rapt silence, and when he finishes she smiles, snuggles into his chest. He plants a kiss into her hair that she doesn't shy away from now, before depositing her on an overturned log and making his way over to the cast-iron pot simmering above the campfire.

"And that is the end of that story," he concludes, tickling her earlobe as he hands her a steaming bowl of rabbit stew.

"Well, not exactly the end," and both he and Rayna turn toward the sound of her voice as she approaches. Their daughter perks up instantly, her hand jutting out to offer the wild bunch of daffodils.

"For you," she beams, and Regina bends down to take them from her, burying her nose into the petals and breathing in their scent.

"Thank you, my love," she says, the words husky with unshed tears, and Robin watches with a pleasant ache in his heart as Rayna throws her arms around her neck, rabbit stew sloshing over the sides of her bowl. Regina is laughing as she gathers her up into a tight embrace, dropping little butterfly kisses across her forehead, and he thinks he'll never tire of seeing this, them, together, at last.

"Now, why is it that every time I do the same, you act as though the world is about to turn over on its side?" Robin wants to know, fingers tangling into her hair and giving it an affectionate ruffle.

"_That's _because boys are gross," Rayna declares haughtily, extracting herself from her mother's arms. She takes a big gulp of what's left in her bowl before stalking off, to find some new manner in which to make poor Neal's life miserable, no doubt.

"Or because her mother taught her a few things about it," Regina smiles as she sets the flowers down and he takes his turn gathering her into his arms.

"Is that right?" Robin asks playfully, hand coming up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "So what you're telling me is that if I do…this…" and he brushes his lips over her eyelids, humming as he feels them flutter closed, "or…this…" they travel down the bridge of her nose next, hover over the smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "You'll run away too?"

"Not this time," she whispers, because this time she's the one who crosses the distance between them, bringing her lips up to meet his in a sweet, gentle kiss. His arms tighten around her waist, eyes still closed a second after she's pulled away, and when they open again she's looking stern, eyebrow arched up as her palms flatten against his chest. "So. You picked _that_ story to tell our daughter?"

"She wanted to know about my scar," Robin says hastily in his own defense, "and besides, I made sure I left out certain parts." Well. Perhaps not the part about her tongue licking her sword, but at least about her tongue doing…other…things later that night.

She hums as he presses his forehead to hers, fingers linking together at the small of her back. "What certain parts?" she asks, a picture of innocence, and then she's biting her lip when he smirks knowingly at her.

"Milady, I'd be perfectly happy to assist if your memory is in need of refreshing," he rumbles, and she throws her head back in a delighted laugh, that smile of hers still blinding, even now, after years of lingering in his thoughts every time he closed his eyes.

"Yes, I'll bet you would," she teases, dragging her hands up his chest to splay along his neck, fingers tickling the stubble there, and she's leaning in for another kiss when he finally notices it, or rather, doesn't. The scar cutting down her upper lip, a story of its own that she had never gotten the chance to share with him before, is no longer there. _Odd_, he's thinking vaguely as a curtain falls over his vision, and he sighs into her mouth when she opens it up to him. But there's a numbness prickling down his spine now, his eyelids have drawn tightly together, squeezing, as though _trying _not to see, and something is wrong.

He tells himself the scar will be there when he forces them open again, but he does and it isn't, the skin there flawless, flushed from his kiss but smooth all the same. _What does it mean_, he wonders, _where has it gone? _And the answer he can't quite process in words has gripped around his heart, dropping it into his stomach and letting it fester there instead. She murmurs his name, but the sound falls short of the deafening buzz in his ears, panic seizing his senses as he realizes, finally, why the scar was never there. Because this, all of this, never had been.

_Rayna_. He whips his head around, eyes wild and searching for her, but she's gone, the edges of his vision dimming, the camp dissolving out of sight. "No," he chokes on the word, reaching, grasping—but as swiftly, as fatally as their daughter had blinked out of existence the moment her hand had touched the shield, Regina fades from his arms too; he finds himself holding onto nothing now, his last shred of hope gone along with them both.

And he really should have known better, that it had all been too good to be true.


End file.
